


Her Dream

by Con_Nicholls



Category: Real life - Fandom
Genre: Cute, F/M, Love, Story, dream - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-10 10:18:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Con_Nicholls/pseuds/Con_Nicholls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A point of view dream from her about him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her Dream

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first story I have written and I'm planning on doing a part 2 in his point of view

The sound of fluttering wings in the background, a buzzing of voices filled the room. Black leather sofas lined the walls, each one stuffed with unfamiliar people, all of which stared wide eyed at me, eager to hear me speak. My heart was racing, my skin was hot to the touch, I could feel my blood rushing to the surface of my face.  
"Hello" I muttered, with a faint smile on my face. I sat down politely on the nearest sofa. There he was, accompanying me on the sofa; and his mother, after all, I was in their home. I scanned the room; everyone was now occupied. As I looked to my right I saw a shelf, half filled with dirty laundry. On top of the laundry sat a lop-eared rabbit. I didn't know they kept rabbits? It soon came to my attention that the Smiths kept lots of animals in their home, but not in enclosures. They believed that the house was a good enough enclosure. I noticed him looking at me from the corner of my eye. I looked back at him and smiled for a brief moment before shifting my gaze to my lap. After All, eye contact may be normal and meaningful to others but for me, it's just uncomfortable, much like the majority of other social interactions. After what felt like an eternity of silence, I felt a comforting arm slide closely around my waist. Another arm crossed in front of me and joined the hand of the other. I loved it when he did that. Shifting around, he leant back along the sofa taking me with him. His arms loosened and his fingers intertwined with mine, the way strands of rope wrap together to form something strong and beautiful. I felt safe when I was with him. It was like nothing else in the world mattered. A silence fell upon the room like a lightly falling blanket; the room became humble. Eyes turned to us again, I could feel the words of each person pushing against the inside of their lips just desperate to blurt out. The silence was broken by one individual. Perhaps everyone was pondering the same, yet only one was willing to end their ponder.  
"So, Is he a good boyfri-"  
I stopped them in their tracks. They were going to say the word. The word that makes it all seem real.  
"Boyfriend."  
Before they could finish the sentence, I abruptly interrupted.  
"Friend. He's just a very close friend"  
At that moment, I felt him loosen his grip. The room became silent and cold. He wasn't a close friend; he was more than that. This boy was the only person in the world I could trust. The only one who made me feel like I had a place in the world. He made me happy to be alive. What I'd said had brought a halt to the once thriving atmosphere of the living room. Knowing it wasn't going to change anytime soon, he took my hand and led me up the stairs.  
The stairway was dark and I could smell the distinctive welcoming smell of ferrets coming from up the stairs. I turned back, listening to the familiar sound of judgement coming from the living room. People are a waste of my time. As I turned to continue up the stairs I noticed he was gone. A small guinea pig, a household pet, lifted its head and peered at me with a sense of curiosity before swiftly scuttling away. I reached the top of the stairs and found myself on a wide, carpeted hallway, bedroom doors down every wall except one. Blankets lined the skirting boards and windowsills. I could only assume they were for the benefit of the animals roaming around the house. I proceeded down the hallway, walking through what felt like clouds of deadly silence. At the end of the hallway was another set of stairs. A three storey home; who knew! I peered up the stairs, unsure of what could be up there. Keeping my wits about me I took a moment and stopped at the base of the stairs, my toes pressed up against the first step. I checked my surroundings. I had the feeling that I was being watched, and sure enough, I was right.  
"He went up there sweetheart"  
I took a rapid step back, almost falling over another pile of blankets. Mrs Smith, his mother, emerged from one of the doors in the hallway. Subconsciously, I knew she was there, yet she still managed to give me a fright."Thank You" I said, followed by quiet uncomfortable laughter. I walked hesitantly up the stairs, watching my step; I could feel Mrs Smith's eyes burning into the back of my skull. The darkness of the stairwell wrapped its empty arms around me as I came to the last step. This time there were only doors, one of which I was certain was the boiler room. I remember him telling me about how he used to hide in the top floor boiler room because it was a warm, tight space that made him feel safe and secure. Ironic really, that was exactly the way he made me feel whenever he held me close. He was my boiler room.  
The hallway lit up. The other door was open, he stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, casting his shadow across the floor. He must have heard me thank his mother and shuffle up the stairs. He looked at me with a contented half smile on his face and his hands in his pockets. Tilting his head back towards the room, he told me to come in and make myself at home. I followed him into the room and closed the door behind me. Immediately, I was struck by the beauty of the scene that was laid before me.  
The walls were brilliant white, laden with beautiful photos of bright beaches, pale wooden structures hung on the wall and warm strings of dainty fairy lights tied the room together. A large window on the sloped right wall was left open a touch, filling the room with crisp, fresh air and the faint, gentle sound of trickling rain. On the opposite side of the room, another big square window flooded the room with light. In front of the window was a wooden seat, comforted with multitudes of cushions and a beautiful throw of autumnal tones. I could tell he spent a lot of time there; the cushions were placed along the end walls and windowsill, the plump shapes gently broken by the hundreds of hours he spent thinking, reading and tracing the lines of raindrops down the window. I'd never seen such an amazing bedroom, and to think I had the privilege to spend time there, with him. I returned my gaze to him, he was stood next to his bed, which was covered in fresh white linen. He still had the half smile on his face, filled with admiration. Above the bed was a large square mirror, outlined with more fairy lights.  
"Sit down" he said, briefly pointing his arm towards the bed. I took off my shoes and placed them neatly at the foot of the bed. I sat down on the edge of the bed with my hands on my knee, unsure of what to do with myself. He laughed to himself.  
"Make yourself comfortable, you can lay down if you like". I loved the way he did his best to make me feel comfortable. He understands me like no other. I crawled over to the far side of the bed and laid back with my head against the top of the headboard, the way people do when they watch television in bed. While he sorted out the contents of his bag that he'd been carrying with him before we arrived at his house, I laid on the bed watching raindrops race one another down the sloped window. By now it was almost sundown. The cold of the night began to replace the brightness of the day. A cold wind rushed through the gap in the window and consumed the warmth within the room. Trying to avoid displaying discomfort, I tightened the grip of my fingers on my arms, with a sharp intake of breath. I didn't want to give the impression I was demanding or overly comfortable in a home that was not my own, so I refrained from closing the window. He finished up with his bag and joined me, sitting next to me on the bed. I looked across at him and smiled. Without saying a word, he returned a questioning look; he didn't understand the reason behind my smile. I slid my hand underneath his and held it tight. That was the only explanation he needed. He knew why I smiled. He understood how he made me feel, and the returned squeeze of his hand gave the impression it was a mutual feeling. Our hands went together like it was meant to be. The spaces between my fingers were right where his fit perfectly. Every time we held hands, he played lightly with my fingertips as though he was admiring them. It was like he studied the detail of each pattern of my fingerprints, somehow finding an element of beauty in them. I was happy.  
Some days, we talked endlessly about anything and everything. We talked about our dreams, our aspirations, what we loved and what we loathed, where we'd like to go and who we'd like to be. But it was not one of those days. Instead, we embraced each other's company and let the silence do the talking. It was moments like these that made everything feel so special. These were the moments I would never forget. Sitting so comfortably together, both in a bubble filled with contentment, it always felt like time was frozen. I returned my thoughts to my surroundings, stepping out of frozen time. By now it was dark outside and the room was now lit up by the warm glow of the fairy lights. I found myself no longer intertwined at the hand with him, but now his body surrounded me like a shield protecting me from the darkness. Or perhaps he just knew I was cold. But nevertheless I was safe. I was warm. And I was loved. His head was resting on mine whilst mine lay on his chest. I listened to his heartbeat. To me, it sounded like the footsteps of a slow walking stranger on a cobblestone street, or a person knocking carefully on the door of someone they had done wrong. I don't know why it sounded so sad and lonely, but I knew it wasn't true to him. I knew he was happy, I could feel it. My arms were tucked up to my chest with my knees almost joining my elbows. His knees tucked under my legs, holding me in place the same way that tightly packed books on a shelf hold one another in place. His arms were wrapped around me, with that he pulled me closer. He looked down at me with a tired look in his eyes. "Bed?" He proposed.  
"Bed." I replied, slipping a smile.  
He loosened his hold and let me unfold. Together, we laid outstretched on the bed, and slowly dragged ourselves to a standing position. I walked to the open window and took a deep breath, taking in the cold night air. There was something about the night air that convinced me that something different was out there after the sun went down. I was always curious to go and put my mind at ease, to go out and find out for myself. But there was always something holding me back, something I still can't identify.  
I heard my name and turned to the voice. It was him, of course.  
"Here you go, this should do"  
He threw one of his shirts my way with a gentle flick of his hand. It collided with my head, my face smothered with the smell of clean cotton. I could hear him laughing from behind the wall of fabric, and let out a muffled laugh of my own before unravelling the shirt from my head. I looked at him with a smile and tilted my head slightly. He was still laughing, a huge grin on his face. His laughter fills up any room, I love that about him. His eyes shrink to a squint when his cheeks are lifted by his amazing smile. It's adorable. I put on the shirt and threw up my hair. I didn't mind how I looked in front of him; he always said that the less effort I make, the more beautiful I looked. He pulled his shirt on over his head and crawled under the sheets. He then reached for the nearby plugs and switched off all the fairy lights, besides the set dangling above the bed. He squirmed under the covers and eventually threw his jeans out from under the covers and onto the window seat, then gestured for me to join him. I placed my jeans alongside his and climbed in next to him. As we laid together in baggy shirts and underwear, I was certain that nothing in the world mattered except him. Without a doubt he completed me.  
He pulled himself to the middle of the bed and lay on his side, facing me. I mirrored his position, resting my head on my hand. He looked into my eyes, I looked back at his. His eyes were a beautiful blue, like that of an untouched tropical ocean. I noticed him studying my eyes, the same way he studied my fingertips. He out his arm on my waist and pulled me in. With his other arm, he laid it out in front of him, and began to stroke my hair, twizzling strands around his fingers and letting it go again. For a while, he continued to look at me in peaceful silence, before moving again. This time he leant in and gently kissed my forehead, and looked back at me again. He smiled. Leaning in again, he slid his whole body down a little, and kissed me properly. On the lips. But it wasn't just a peck; he stayed for a few seconds longer as though he really meant it. He seemed to like my eyes; he returned his studios gaze to me as I snuggled into his arms. He tightened his grip and gave one last goodnight. Kissing me lightly on the top of my head, he whispered.  
"I love you".  
With that, we both drifted off into a deep sleep. But that was the last I remember.  
It was all so real, yet I can't recall a single one of those feelings anymore. There is nothing I want more than to have him back, but it can't happen again. It never happened in the first place. Confused? None of it was real, not a second. Every vivid moment, every sight, every sound, every smell, every touch, every kiss. It was all a dream. But every second felt real to me.


End file.
